


let me perfect it

by gazeboarcade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Actor-Comedian Richie Tozier, Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Adult Losers Club (IT), Comedian Richie Tozier, Disabled Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier-centric, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mechanic Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-Canon, References to the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie stays in New York, Risk Analyst Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, eventual, i'm sorry mom, probably also
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27456379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazeboarcade/pseuds/gazeboarcade
Summary: "Stop there and let me correct it, I wanna live a life from a new perspective."Richie wants to start using his own material. Eddie wants to support him. This is going to be a fun little story about how they get the ball rolling on that dream together.IT 2 fix-it fic where Eddie lives. There's fluff and two idiots recovering from trauma together. Richie and Eddie-centric but the other losers will make their appearances.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, other peripheral losers ships mentioned in the background as I go
Comments: 16
Kudos: 36





	1. pancakes and confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 2nd ever IT fanfic. I hope y'all dig this as much as I do. Not much really happens in this chapter, but this was mainly me setting them up to knock down in next chapters, anyway. 
> 
> Slight TW for mentions of disassociation and a possibly triggering sentence or two about reality. It's there and gone, but if you can't take that, maybe skip this bit.

Richie was a surprisingly good cook, when he wanted to be. He could never explain exactly what he did for recipes because he would follow the basic directions while throwing in whatever else “sounded good.” That particularly complicated things when it came to some of his more complex creations, but tonight he was kicking it old school. He usually left the kitchen a mess afterward, counter covered in spills and sink towering in dishes, but tonight he was on his best behavior while he cooked dinner for two. He was making one of Eddie’s favorite things, and putting in the extra work to make it seem even more special. 

While listening to some music from his phone, Richie set the table according to the fancy way he found on Google, lining up plates and silverware neatly. He put a couple small bowls in the center of the table with fresh berries and a gravy boat filled with syrup ordered straight from Vermont. Gingerly, he placed two glasses on the table, filling them both with icy cool orange juice. Half jogging upstairs to his room, he changed into some nicer clothes. He worried at what exactly to change into, switching a few times. 

Ultimately, he decided on a pair of dark blue jeans and a dark red shirt buttoned half way up over a black tee. The red brought out his eyes, Eddie had told him. He fussed at his hair in the mirror for a moment before conceding to it as hopeless. Richie wasn’t _nervous_ , but he had butterflies in his stomach just the same. It wasn’t like Eddie would say no, right? Either way, he wanted to pull out all the stops. In case it was something Eddie didn’t want to go through with, he wanted his boyfriend to feel safe saying no. 

Bounding back down the stairs noisily, he rushed back to the kitchen. Richie was loud even when he wasn’t speaking. Back at the stove, he sprinkled some chocolate chips into some pancakes sizzling on the pan. He glanced at his watch. Eddie should be home in a few minutes. After flipping the pancakes, he forced himself to take a deep breath. 

“Get it together, Tozier,” He muttered. From the drawer next to the stove, he took out a lighter that he used for the occasional cigarette or, in this case, lighting candles on the table. Tossing it back in the drawer, he shook out his hands, trying to get the jittery pent up energy out. 

While the pancakes finished cooking, he unlocked his phone which was hooked up to a speaker. Richie switched the music from his own personal mess of a playlist (classic rock, synth pop, CRJ, and Taylor Swift mostly) to one more suited for a cozy dinner in, slow and jazzy. Eddie loved that kind of ambiance, he complimented it every time they were in a Barnes & Noble. 

He looked out the window for a few beats. God, it was getting dark so early. That’s November for you. Richie would grumble about the chill in the air every time he went outside, complaining that it was warmer in LA. At least for now anyway, he was sticking on the chilly, gray East Coast. Maybe one of these days they would move to California, and Richie could show Eddie the wonders of West Coast winters and they could leave the snow banks of the East Coast behind. For now, extra layers would have to do.

Turning his attention back to the stove, Richie picked up the pan and, at the table, flipped the pancakes onto the plates. Just as he gently placed the last one into place, he heard the front door crack open. He smiled, proud of himself for how seamlessly timed this was.

“Wait by the door!” He called out. 

“Richie?” Eddie called back. “It smells incredible in here-” 

“Wait by the door!” He yelled again, tossing the pan back to the stove and flipping off the burner. 

“Okay, okay! Jesus.” 

He half jogged, half slid on the wooden floor down the hall to the front room. Richie stopped short in front of Eddie, who stood by the doorway with a quirked eyebrow. It was like being greeted by a puppy, Eddie thought. 

Richie beamed. “Hey, Eds.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s jaw. Eddie put a hand out, grabbing the sleeve of Richie’s shirt before he could pull back. 

“Slow down there, Speed Racer,” Eddie chuckled. He smoothed Richie’s sleeve against his bicep, squeezing it gently. 

“How was work, my love?” Richie asked, already laying it on way too thick. 

“Work was work. What are you up to?” 

“Oh, uh, nothing, I just wanted to treat my boyfriend, is that illegal?” He laughed awkwardly, kicking himself mentally for lying. It wasn’t part of the plan to talk about all that yet. Richie gently took Eddie’s messenger bag, hanging it on the hook next to the front door. He offered to take off Eddie’s jacket. 

“Alright…” Eddie squinted, but shrugged out of his jacket into Richie’s hands. 

“Very good, m’lord,” Richie said, hanging it on the hook next to Eddie’s bag while the other man took off his shoes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not the butler voice-”

“Right this way, m’lord, dinner is served,” He said in a baritone voice mimicking Carson from Downton Abbey, a show Eddie had since regretted exposing Richie to. Richie offered a hand to Eddie, which he took. 

“You know how I feel about the butler voice, almost worse than the British Guy, Rich, it’s fucking unnerving.” 

Richie laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand as he led him to the dining room. The contact was soothing. He let go to pull out a chair for Eddie, who hovered for a moment by the chair. 

“Richie,” Eddie melted, taking in the spread. “Pancakes? Breakfast for dinner?” He said, reverently. 

Richie beamed, nodding, like a proud kid showing off a drawing.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Don’t worry about that yet, it’s gonna get cold,” Richie said. 

Eddie reluctantly sat down heavily and let Richie push him in. He was too tired from a long day to really protest the chivalry. Richie took his place on the other side of the table. He could tell Richie needed to say something. Even with a large gap of his life lived away from Richie, he knew the man’s tells. 

His leg was bouncing a mile a minute under the table, hands moving in a flurry of action in front of him. Richie got the same look when he first asked Eddie out. Eddie didn’t want to squeeze it out of Richie, whatever it was, it was clearly premeditated. 

“Are these chocolate chip?” Eddie said, gesturing to the pancakes. 

“Of _course_ they are. What am I, a monster?” Richie pretended to be appalled, hand over his heart. He broke with a grin and gestured to the small bowls on the table. “Blueberries, strawberries, and Vermont syrup, too.”

“Along with the candles? God, you’re spoiling me.” 

Richie looked up at Eddie through his eye lashes, glasses slipping a bit down his nose. “You deserve it,” He said quietly. Richie pushed the syrup toward Eddie. “Eat, it’s going to get cold.”

“Thank you,” Eddie hummed, pouring the syrup over his pancakes and adding the syrup. He passed it back to Richie in exchange for some blueberries when he was done. 

Eddie cut off a mouthful of pancake and carefully added some blueberries and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “God, Rich, incredible as always.” 

“Ah, don’t give me too much credit, they’re like five ingredients.” 

“They’re incredible, _you’re_ incredible,” Eddie smiled warmly across the table at Richie, whose cheeks tinted pink while he sipped his orange juice. 

“How are you feeling?” Richie asked, tone approaching casual normalcy. 

Even so, Eddie still wasn’t quite used to it. After months post-Neibolt in a hospital and weeks of rehab after, he must’ve been asked that very same question countless times. The chronic pain and exhaustion served as daily reminders that his body would never be the same as it once was, but it was the quiet moments like this where he could forget, for just a moment, that something was different. He sighed out a tired breath, smiling softly at Richie.

“I’m okay. Just…” He trailed off for a moment, gesturing vaguely with his fork. “Long day, you know?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah. I know. We’ll call it an early one tonight, huh?”

“Sounds great to me, Rich.” 

The two ate in silence for a while, music filling the room and keeping them from lapsing into anything like an awkward silence. Eddie watched as Richie ate, fidgeting the whole time. It was coming up on being painful to watch. Eddie cleared his throat, and Richie looked up at him, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. 

“Richie.”

“Yeah?” His voice betrayed him, cracking.

“What’s going on up there?” Eddie asked, tapping his own temple. He watched Richie sit up straighter in his seat. “Out with it.”

“So, I think I’ve got a new set,” Richie blurted. Eddie raised his eyebrows, sipping his orange juice and gently returning his cup to his coaster.

“Oh, that’s great. Who, uh, y’know…” Eddie trailed off. 

Richie tilted his head. 

“Who wrote it?” 

Richie rolled his shoulders back, squaring them confidently. “Me.” 

“You?” Eddie blinked, surprised. 

“Yeah, me, is that so fucking shocking, asshole?” Richie snipped back, barely any real hostility behind it. Eddie could tell from the pinkness returning to Richie’s cheeks that he was embarrassed, more than anything. 

“No, not shocking. I’m just surprised is all,” Eddie rushed out. 

“I just- I’m so tired of being everyone’s puppet, you know? My publicist, my agent, probably my goddamn manager, too- I don’t think they really see me, does that make sense?” 

“Like, what, as an artist?” 

“Artist sounds a tad dramatic, but yeah!” Richie, now finished with his food, tossed his napkin on his plate. Eddie had already finished, so he stood up like a shot, scooping up their plates and taking them to the sink. Eddie started to get up, to help clear the table. Richie saw the way he winced at some invisible pang of pain when he started to. Richie walked back over in front of Eddie, picking up their glasses. 

“Don’t get up, let me handle this. You just listen to me and tell me if I’m crazy, okay?” 

Reluctantly, Eddie nodded. 

“I don’t think they really give a shit about me. I mean, my manager is alright, but I think they all just--” Richie dropped the dishes noisily in the sink, switching on the faucet. “Don’t really give a shit about me, about what I want. I’m their fucking puppet. They want Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier to wear the stupid suit, go on stage, and talk about jerking off, snorting coke off an Emmy, and motorboating a stripper’s tits behind a 7-11 on a random Tuesday.” He shook his head, scrubbing away at the dishes, placing them in the drying rack as he went. 

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed. Not dismissively, but enough to acknowledge Richie without taking the floor. He folded his arms over his chest. 

“I mean, I can kind of relate to some of that, but like, it’s not me. I put on this fucking mask in front of everyone, and they love it. They love the version of me they see, they tell me I’m hilarious and sexy and it’s like-” He huffed. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m not, it’s not like that. I appreciate everything this job has afforded me and all the kind words, but I’m not that person.”

Eddie nodded sympathetically, eyebrows knitted together. He knew Richie wasn’t satisfied with the shtick that he had to put on, but he was a tough nut to crack. He was always more willing to shrug it off and wisecrack about it than to really admit how much it bothered him, but Eddie knew it did. 

Richie scrubbed aggressively at the pan, putting more force into it than necessary. “It’s- I feel so fucking bad taking all this attention and money and praise for something that’s not me.” 

“It’s _kind of_ you, in a way,” Eddie tried to reason. “I mean, you’re the one who gets up there on stage, you give the lines your own spin and all, get that charisma all over the place. That’s got to count for something.” 

Richie sighed and went back to talking a mile a minute. “I mean, I guess, but it’s not real. They don’t see me, they don’t know who I really am. I’m a fucking fake-” He noisily dropped the pan in the drain rack and forcefully shut off the faucet. “I’m not fucking real!” Richie said, a bit more raw and a bit more desperate sounding than he intended. Silence abruptly following the outburst was more than enough to make him regret that last bit. 

He had spent years of his life in and out of what seemed like a haze, like he was watching his own life unfold on TV through blurry eyes. _Disassociation_ , his shrink had called it. A defense mechanism. Eddie pushed himself up, closing the distance between himself and Richie. 

Richie pushed his glasses up and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He sighed and leaned against the counter. “That sounded much more dramatic than I meant, I know, take it easy Julie Andrews.” His laugh was shaky and unconvincing.

“Stop,” Eddie said as he looped his arms around Richie’s waist. Richie put his arms around Eddie, holding onto him with a tightness that betrayed how upset he actually was. No one needed to explain where this fear of a lack of reality came from. They both knew. Imposter syndrome amplified by a deep, cutting feeling that no one is actually seeing you mixed with painful memories made for one hell of a cocktail. They held onto each other for a few moments before Eddie leaned back slightly, not separating their bodies completely. 

He straightened Richie’s shirt collar and smoothed a hand over his dark brown hair, smiling gently up at him. 

“Thank you,” Richie mumbled. 

“Listen to me,” Eddie said, hands on Richie’s shoulders. “Are you listening?” Stunned by the intense look in Eddie’s eyes, all Richie could do was nod. 

“Good.” Eddie slid a hand to the back of Richie’s neck. “You are real.” 

Richie glanced to the side, embarrassed that this even needed to happen. 

“Say it,” Eddie pushed. 

“I’m real,” Richie sighed. 

“That’s right.” Eddie rubbed his hand on the back of his boyfriend’s neck. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you are. You were my Trashmouth before you were the world’s, weren’t you? Way back when we were kids.”

Richie nodded. 

“I think it’s great that you’ve been working on your own set. You’re an asshole, but you’re so fucking funny, Rich, that’s real,” Eddie said, relishing the flush in Richie’s cheeks at his praise. 

He continued, “Your love for comedy? That’s real. I see it in your eyes when we watch silly funny movies or old comedy reels, that sparkle. That’s more than clear in how you live your life, always trying to make everyone around you smile. It’s your passion, Rich, and you’re so good at it. So good.” 

By then, Richie was smiling crookedly down at Eddie, eyes looking just this side of damp around the edges. He took a shaky breath. “Gonna make me cry, if you keep talking like that.” 

“Good, dumbass.” Eddie teased, punching Richie’s shoulder lightly. “I mean it though, you should do this.”

“Yeah?” 

Eddie nodded. 

“You’ll stick by me, even if I bomb and all my fans turn against me and send me hate mail about how they want to turn my skin into a suit?”

“A suit? Holy shit.” Eddie laughed. “Do people even send handwritten hate mail anymore?” 

“I’m sure they would find a way!”

“Well, I don’t think that will happen. But, I mean this in the best possible way, if you lose some people, you’re probably better off without them, the lousy douches.” 

“I don’t want to have to hide you anymore, either,” Richie said, quietly, brushing a hand over Eddie’s cheek, thumb running over the scar Bowers’ knife left behind. It was stupid, maybe even selfish. He knew things were better now than when he was a kid, but it was hard to put much stock into that. Just because they were living somewhere with some of the most bulletproof hate crime legislation, he wasn’t comforted. After all, it was a post-fact solution. He would like to avoid ever seeing Eddie bleed again, if he could.

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, concerned. They had kind of talked about this before, about how the stress of public notoriety on a relationship as new of theirs. New felt like a weird word to use, with how timeless he felt in Richie’s arms, but they agreed it could be destructive not only on a personal level, but also to their own individual recoveries after IT 2.0. It had been an understated point that Richie wasn’t ready to come out to the whole world yet, either, but they never really talked about it. Not like this. 

“Really?” Eddie asked, matching Richie’s quiet tone. 

“Yeah, I mean, if you’ll let me.” Richie shifted his weight on his feet, making a shy face that Eddie could only think to describe as adorable. Some of his more sharp eyed fans, usually the younger ones, had already been asking questions about who the short brunette he had been seen around the city with was. “You’re just- You’re too good to hide away. I want to be able to talk about how much I love my hot as hell boyfriend without always worrying in the back of my mind that someone will leak it to the press and worrying about being harassed by the paparazzi every time you go to work.” 

“Richie-” 

“And you might have to be prepared for that reality no matter what, Eds. They’re freaking vultures, and they’re going to want a piece of you just because you know me. It sounds douchey, but it’s true. That is, if my career isn’t reduced to shit after all this and I-” 

“Richie!” Eddie cut him off. “Listen, if this is something you’re ready for, it’s something I’m ready for.”

“Really?” 

“I mean, it’ll be an adjustment for me. Risk analysis is not really something that’ll lure in fame.” He paused. “Point is, Rich, my main focus here is you. It’s your career, it’s what you’re comfortable with. I’m sure you’ve been thinking about it for quite a while. Is this something you want to do?” 

“It is,” Richie said, smiling his big goofy smile, slight overbite clear from Eddie’s angle. All the more adorable. 

“Then we’ll do it. You don’t have to do any of this alone, Rich. I’ll be here with you for all of it, even if you get hate mail threatening to harvest your kidneys, or whatever.” 

“Promise?” Ever the biggest dork you’ll ever meet, Richie held up his hand for a pinkie swear. Chuckling, Eddie locked his finger with Richie’s. 

“Promise.”


	2. scars and 3-in-1 soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner and the next morning.

After finishing up cleaning the kitchen, Richie and Eddie went upstairs. Richie was giddy with the euphoria of nothing going south. He was also feeling that special, slapstick breed of happy that came with having just experienced a cutesy moment with Eddie. Love dizzy. 

“You going to shower?” Richie asked. 

Eddie nodded. He loved showering at the end of the day, washing the nastiness of the day off. He pulled off his tie, walking toward the bathroom. Mindlessly, Richie followed. He stood in the door frame, watching Eddie slowly unbutton his shirt, back to him. When he shrugged out of it, Richie thought for a moment that he could just about die, seeing Eddie roll his shoulders, and he was struck all over again by how much he loved this man. 

Eddie turned back toward Richie, whisper of a smirk on his lips while he folded his shirt. Placing it on the counter, he said, “Pick your jaw up off the floor, I’m not cheap.”

“You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like you’re putting on a show.” He winked. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave the performing to you, Mr. Funnyman.”

“I’m a comedian, not a stripper.”

“Whatever you say,” Eddie teased, pulling his undershirt over his head with a wince. He neatly folded that too, placing it on top of his work shirt, back to Richie once more. He leaned on the bathroom counter, looking in the mirror. A hand fluttered up from his side to his chest and even though Richie couldn’t see from his angle, he knew what Eddie was doing. 

He looked at the brutal scarring on Eddie’s back. It was worse on the front. Eddie had a habit of worrying at it after a long day. He walked up behind Eddie, standing next to him. He leaned on the counter by his hip, crossing his arms. Richie concentrated on looking Eddie in the eye, who let his hand fall once more to his side. 

“Is it hurting?” He asked. 

Eddie sighed. “Kind of. Not really.”

“Which one is it, kind of or not really?” 

Eddie thought for a moment before shrugging. “You’re allowed to look at it, Rich,” He said, noticing Richie awkwardly trying to maintain eye contact. For someone who was a mile of minute, like Richie, he hadn’t grown to expect prolonged eye contact unless things were serious. 

“I know,” He said, maybe too quickly. Richie just didn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable by staring and tried to make it a rule not to stare, especially since he knew Eddie wasn’t exactly proud of it. He dropped his eyes to Eddie’s chest, taking in the broad area of scar tissue. He tried to keep his face expressionless, but ended up with a set jaw and furrowed eyebrows. 

“That bad?” Eddie asked quietly. He looked to the side, folding his arms over his chest. 

“No!” Richie went wide-eyed. “No, not at all, oh my god. I’m such a fucking jerk. Eddie, no.” Eddie looked so fucking sad, his heart stung.

“Eds…” Eddie looked up at him, big brown eyes watery. “Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti. No.” He stepped forward, hands on Eddie’s elbows. “I’ve got no problem with your scars, you gotta know that by now.” 

“Are you sure?” Eddie asked, and Richie gave his elbows a gentle squeeze. 

“Holy shit, yeah, I’m sure!” 

“You looked so… I don’t know, upset. When you were looking at me.” _And why wouldn’t you, surely you can do better than someone so broken._ He didn’t need to say that out loud, Richie could hear that fear in his voice. All throughout Eddie’s recovery, Richie would lose his mind any time Eddie suggested he was broken or a burden in any way. 

In a way, Eddie didn’t know how to accept Richie’s doting and attention to his healing. In his experience, care like that was used only to smother, to separate him away from the rest of the world. Even though Richie didn’t hover like his mother, like Myra did before she finally understood that yes, Myra, divorce means _divorce_ , nor did he make Eddie stay home even when he said he was ready to go out… 

Well, sometimes Eddie felt himself waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway. 

“I’m not upset about you. I don’t like to- It’s just that-” Richie huffed. “It’s not _you_ , it’s the memory, Eddie. I can remember it so clearly.” He swallowed hard. 

Eddie blinked at him with those big doe eyes, still misty and so sad looking. 

“Your blood was all over me, all over you, coming out your mouth. I remember it so much, I see it in my sleep.” He spoke quickly, fumbling a bit over his words. “Fuck me, Eddie, you almost _died_. And in the deadlights-” His voice caught in his throat. Eddie lunged forward, unfolding his arms. He pressed himself against Richie’s chest. 

“Christ, Rich, I’m so sorry.” 

Richie laughed, high and in a way where he almost sounded like he was choking. He put his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?” He could feel wetness leaking through his shirt onto his chest and froze for a moment. He held Eddie tighter when he started shaking with silent sobs. 

Richie slid a hand to the back of Eddie’s head, knotting his fingers in his hair. They stood like that for a few minutes or a few hours, just holding each other. It was messy, it was awkward, but they were starting to get used to that. Eventually, Eddie stopped shaking, and pulled back a bit to look at Richie. “Sorry I got your shirt all wet,” He said, croaking out a laugh. “I’m disgusting.” 

“I’ll send you my dry cleaning bill.” 

“You asshole, it’s a tee shirt.” He tried to laugh it off but Richie looked at him again, with the same look he fixed Eddie’s scar with. 

“C’mere,” Richie said, bending down and grabbing Eddie and lifting him up. He squeaked, surprised by being suddenly scooped up. Richie stepped forward, placing Eddie on the counter. He stood between Eddie’s knees, hands on his thighs. Eddie laughed again, this time not one of self-deprecation, but genuine.

“Take it easy, He-Man, the last thing we need is a trip to the emergency room because you gave yourself a hernia.” He put his hands on Richie’s shoulders, smiling shakily.

“Lemme get a good look at you, Spaghetti Head.” Richie reached up, wiping at the wetness that lingered under Eddie’s eyes. Eddie sniffed. He felt his own eyes prickle with the threat of his tears. He kept one hand on Eddie’s cheek, who leaned against it sweetly. With his other, he wiped at his own eyes. “Jesus christ, look at us.”

“Two old men, crying in the bathroom?”

Richie choked out a laugh, returning his hand back to Eddie’s cheek. Sat on the counter like this, he was about an inch taller than Richie. “Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t hate your scars.”

“Well, I guess that’s good news.”

“Hey! No lip right now, I’m being serious.” 

Eddie nodded solemnly. 

“If anything, I love them,” He continued. Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, I love them. Do you know why?” 

Eddie blinked back at him, shaking his head. 

“Because they mean you lived. You lived, and you’re still here with me.” Richie looked up at Eddie, who melted at his words. “It’s stupid and sounds so freaking corny, but it’s true.” 

“Going soft on me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“But, seriously, I don’t think that’s corny. Eddie pouted, stroking his thumbs on Richie’s shoulders. “I know what you mean.”

Richie leaned in close enough to feel Eddie’s breathing on his face for a moment before kissing him. They stayed like that for a bit before Richie broke the kiss by smiling into it. They pressed their foreheads together for a moment, smiling at each other. It was quiet, it was intimate. Eventually, Richie pulled back, peppering kisses down Eddie’s jaw. 

Eddie giggled, knotting his hands in the back of Richie’s hair. He trailed more kisses down to Eddie’s shoulder and down to his collarbone. He hummed. “Richie, I wish you would let me shower first, I’m so dirty.” 

“Oh, are ya?” Richie teased. Eddie playfully slapped him. 

“You know what I mean, dickhead,” He said, chuckling.

Richie rolled his eyes. He pressed another kiss to Eddie’s upper pec, to his breast bone. Eddie stopped laughing, stomach doing somersaults. Richie could feel Eddie’s heart flutter by his pulse in his neck, where his hand was resting, another little reminder he was alive. 

Richie traced the outlines of Eddie’s scar, listening to his breath hitch in his throat. “Does it tickle?” 

“No, not really. It’s hard to explain. It feels…” Eddie trailed off for a moment. “Nice.” He watched Richie with a smile, toying with his short wavy hair at the nape of his neck. Richie looked so careful, so focused which Eddie knew wasn’t the easiest for the klutz. Richie leaned in slowly and kissed the center of Eddie’s scar. 

Eddie gasped, accidentally pulling a fistful of Richie’s hair. He heard Richie suck in a breath of air through his nose when he felt the subtle sting at the base of his scalp. “Shit, sorry,” Eddie whispered. 

“‘S okay, Eds,” He whispered back before kissing Eddie’s scar again. Eddie quirked an eyebrow at the gravely tone in Richie’s voice and experimentally gave his hair another tug. Richie made this little noise in the back of his throat which made Eddie’s stomach flutter and twist when Richie pressed a third, longer kiss to his scar in turn. Eddie made a mental point to file this new knowledge away for later. 

Richie’s eyelashes tickled the edges of his scar, butterfly kissing. Then, he pulled back slowly, and Eddie noticed his pupils blown like saucers. He grinned, and Richie beamed back. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Eddie baby.” Richie stood up straight, stretching. “Shower?” Eddie nodded, hopping off the counter and walking over to turn on the faucet. Richie looked over his shoulder at the spotless shower counting the bottles of soap neatly lined up. Seven. Only one was his. 

“God, you have so many soaps.” He watched Eddie unbuckle his belt. Eddie looked over his shoulder. 

“It’s not my fault you’re gross.”

“Gross? Jeez, Kaspbrak, you wound me.” 

Eddie stepped out of his slacks, folding them and placing them with the rest of the clothes. He turned to face Richie, just in his boxers and socks. “Well, not gross. Just, oddly conservative with your soap choices. I mean, come on, Rich, 3 in 1?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with 3 in 1? It’s 3 in 1!” 

“Yeah, a 3 inch long list of carcinogenic ingredients in 1.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with taking care of yourself.” He stepped forward, kissing Richie’s shoulder. 

He shifted his weight, grumbling. “I know that.”

“I know you’re getting there,” Eddie said gently. 

“I mean, what are they all even for?”

“Well, I have two different sets of shampoo and conditioner, a moisturizing body wash, and a coconut castor oil. For my chest,” He clarified. It helped keep his scar from drying and tightening. He had several other products for his scar in the bathroom drawer, but he didn’t want to overwhelm Richie. 

“Hmm.”

“We can get you started with just breaking your 3 in 1 down to separate containers of your own at the store tomorrow, sound reasonable?” 

“Fair enough, Eds,” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s forehead before looping out of the bathroom, which was quickly steaming up from the boiling temperature Eddie liked it at. “Enjoy your shower!” 

***

The next morning, Eddie woke up with the sun. Richie was still out like a light, snoring softly next to him. Richie refused to believe he snored, claiming he was very grateful not to inherit his father’s deviated septum. Eddie never pressed him too hard about it because it wasn’t a lawn mower drag or anything. Richie’s breathing worked as a white noise machine, in a way. 

Eddie laid next to him for a few minutes, just watching Richie’s shoulder move up and down slowly with each breath. He was facing the other way, so Eddie couldn’t see his face. A capital crime, really. Eventually, he had to force himself out of their warm bed. He had work today, after all. It was tragic, but he had to be by the office by 7:45, sharp. He winced as the cool air in their room hit his skin, wishing he opted to sleep with a shirt on so the transition didn’t seem so harsh, but he could barely get away with anything more than linen sleep pants if he was sharing a bed with Richie. It seemed to Eddie that he had a way of being attracted to people who could double as space heaters, and this much was definitely true for Richie. 

He made his way silently to the bathroom to start his morning routine. While he washed his face, he did a body inventory, checking for problems. His shoulders and neck felt tight, and his ankles were a bit achy. He had trouble with a lot of his joints after Neibolt. On good days, the extent of it was some newfound double-jointed party tricks he could show off, but on bad days, or when it was cold out, he ached, especially in his knees, wrists, and ankles. 

His doctor’s suggested braces, some of which could be easily purchased online, some which he had to get specially made. He hated them. They showed anyone who cared to look that there was something wrong, something broken. He wanted his pain to be private. At work, he would go without his wrist braces if he would be around co-workers, not wanting to give them a reason to pity him. He knew it wasn’t _bad_ to need them, certainly, but Eddie had a difficult relationship with medicine, with his body, with healing and treatments. 

It was hard, sometimes, to determine where the lines were. Was what he was feeling real? Was it imagined? Was he playing something up? Was it for attention? Was it to gain sympathy? Was it to feel vulnerable so someone, something else could make him feel safe? Sometimes he had a hard time being sure. He knew that most of the time he felt guilty no matter what the truth was. 

First, he rubbed the prescription scar cream onto his chest. Looser joints came in handy, because all he really had to do was turn around to look over his shoulder in the mirror to make sure he was putting the cream in the right spot. On top of that and around the edges, he added extra moisturizer. From the bathroom cabinet, he took out some ibuprofen and shook half a dose into his hand. 

He got off the oxy and vicodin as soon as the hospital would let him. He wasn’t sure what was the main motivation for that. He had narrowed it down to either a refusal of relying on anything as a way to cope with his trauma (poorly) of nearly 6 months in the hospital or an attempt to show Richie, and the rest of the losers for that matter, that he was capable of existing without a 10 inch long list of drugs working their ways through his system. 

Eddie brushed his teeth afterward, counting out a precise 120 seconds mentally as he did so. While he brushed, he stretched his hips and legs, lunging side to side. Then, his arms and shoulders. After flossing, he tried not to think so hard about how much the antiseptic mouthwash stung, bargaining with himself that it was a good burn, the germ killing kind. After spitting into the sink, he walked back out to the bedroom, quietly opening the closet. 

He decided on a dark blue suit with a wine colored tie. From the shelf next to where he hung his clothes, he picked out some goofy socks with ducks wearing hats that Richie had got him one day. He dressed as quietly as he could, but Richie rolled over suddenly anyway, startling him, making him hiss out a curse. 

“Aw…” Richie said, voice gravely from sleep, alerting Eddie he was awake. “Gotta go already?” He blinked slowly, eyes bleary. 

“Yeah, sorry, honey,” He said softly, coming to sit on the bed while he put on his socks. Richie, still sleep stupid, fumbled a hand under Eddie’s suit jacket and rested it on his hip. Eddie smiled softly at the contact. One of his ankles clicked while he tugged on a sock. 

“Snap, crackle, pop, Spaghetti Head,” Richie slurred, rubbing his thumb on Eddie’s hip. 

“Sorry. Go back to sleep,” Eddie said, tucking his pants back over his socks. 

Richie hummed, nuzzling into his pillow. “If they’re hurtin’, wear your brace.” 

“I plan to. Didn’t want to put them on up here and wake you up.” 

“So…” Richie trailed off. Eddie thought for a moment he may have fallen back asleep before he finished, “Sweet to me.” 

Eddie smiled down at him, leaning over to kiss the top of Richie’s head. He was hopelessly cute like this, all sleep rumpled. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see about getting off early today, and we’ll go shopping, okay?”

“Okay, sugar daddy,” Richie mumbled back, and Eddie could tell he had fallen back asleep. He pulled their quilt back up over his shoulders, rocking up off the bed and heading down stairs. Sure enough, the braces made a whole ruckus. The peel of the velcro seemed deafening in the otherwise silent apartment. Eddie tested the hinges to see if they would need any vaseline, but they seemed fine. He pulled them onto his feet and fancy brown leather work shoes over them. 

After shrugging into his winter coat and grabbing his office bag, Eddie dipped out to meet the chilly November morning.

***

Richie woke up officially on his own about an hour later. He hated to sleep alone, and often couldn’t manage to really stay asleep without a body next to him. He tended to feel like such a burnout on mornings like this, stuck in the house while Eddie went out to do work. He tried to convince himself he was working, too. This meant _structure_. 

For someone so messy, it frequently surprised people how much Richie needed structure to get just about anything done. He woke up, spent about 12 minutes in the bathroom on his morning routine and a shower. Then, it was time for breakfast. He brewed an entire pot of coffee. He would make it through most of it on his own, leaving a cup for Eddie when he got back from work. 

It was hazy, but he remembered Eddie saying something about getting off early, which was exciting. He ate some of Eddie’s boring old man cereal with a banana chopped over it, snorting a laugh at how that somehow felt fancy. Sure, his comedy gig afforded him more luxury than he knew what to do with, but at heart he was still from a middle class upbringing.

Richie’s parents had worked hard to drill in some sense of an understanding that he needed to set certain things to do during the day, like breakfast and a shower. Otherwise- and he felt stupid about it- he struggled to get anything done. He learned little tips and tricks to improve the follow through of it all as he grew up. Stanley actually taught him a bunch of little ways to really make a routine stick and being out of his depth in college really drove the lesson home. 

After breakfast and deep into his second cup of coffee, he started clearing his throat, humming along with some music playing from his phone to loosen up the pipes. He paused the music, walking to stand in front of a large mirror they had in the living room. With a TV remote turned microphone, he began working through his new act. 

“Hey- No, that’s stupid.” He cleared his throat again, shifting his weight. He grinned into the mirror. “How’s everybody doing tonight?” Better. “Some of you probably know how I am, but tonight I’m going back to my roots- No.” Sounded too conceited. Richie hated introducing himself on stage, usually opting to get right into things, but he felt like this whole thing required a bit of a preamble. 

He took a deep breath before trying again. “How’s everybody doing?” Pause. “Not to sound like an asshole, but I assume some of you know how I am?” There, now it’s douchey, but self-concious. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a very special show for you tonight.” Nope. 

“Hey, everybody, nice to meet you. I’m Richie Tozier, and I’m here to tell you guys today that I’m fucking gay.” He startled a laugh out of himself, still not quite used to saying that outloud. Not quite, but closer. Richie thought for a moment, back to his college days. He stumbled into the comedy business, not expecting it to actually go anywhere. Like most things in his life, it started as a joke. He was fucking around at a club with a bunch of other fuck ups he fell in with at the start of school. 

He remembered the first line he ever said, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where he went with it. Richie had walked out on stage sophomore year and said, with an inordinate amount of confidence, “Have you stupid bitches ever even _seen_ Matilda?” 

And somehow, it worked. Slowly, it became a thing he did on weekends. Then he got a card from an old man who ran the club he was performing at, a card for another old man from an agency who wanted to hear from him. After that, things seemed to move at lightspeed. Before he was really sure what was going on, the agency convinced him to use material that was written for him (“Your stuff’s good, it’s raw, but it’s a bit much. The people love you, keep ‘em looking”) and he was famous enough that he would almost always get recognized when he went out. Especially after he moved to L.A. 

Richie cleared his throat, backing up and walking forward again. “How’s everybody doing tonight? I’m Richie Trashmouth Tozier, and I’ve got some crazy shit to tell you.” He beamed. 

Yeah, that’ll work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, not all that much "happened" action wise here, but I wanted to do some establishment, you feel me? Stay tuned for the next chapter where they both actually leave the apartment, lol. And another loser may make an appearance, we shall see. 
> 
> Remember, I thrive off attention so please comment your thoughts below but I am a people pleaser so don't be too mean. Tho keep in mind I tend to write the next chapter quicker if I get more attention lol
> 
> Thank you to my bestie and beta reader, Ross. You can follow her and see her cool art [on Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/con.voluted/)
> 
> You can find my art and fandom content [on Tumblr](https://gazeboarcade.tumblr.com). Also, and idk if you guys even care that much, but [here is the Richie/Eddie playlist I listen to while I write](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5utr34aeArMRF4ddvI8SjU?si=1sVr9xzXR8-GxlX33JdvVw).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and I appreciate you.


	3. steno pads and marijuana leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie does some research.

Eddie walked into his office building on a mission. If Richie wanted to try new stuff, that meant he would either have to go ahead and go public immediately or go lowkey. If Eddie knew him at all, it could go either way. He wanted to be supportive, so he was going to do his job and analyze risk. When the elevator doors opened on the floor of his office, he turned his attention to the secretary at the front desk immediately. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kaspbrak,” She said with a sunny smile. His floor’s secretary was young, fresh out of business school and he hated how his shitty alpha male coworkers treated her. He smiled back at her, placing a small cappuccino on her desk. Her eyes went wide.   
covid

“Is this for me?” She sounded shocked. 

“Yes it is, Ms. Smithfield.” All the other douchebags on the floor usually called her Joan or some shitty nickname, but Eddie remembered what it was like to be in her position. “Can I ask you a couple questions?” He asked, leaning on her desk. 

Her face went white. “Oh, was something wrong with the data report copies? I knew the copier was acting buggy, what was wrong with them? I will call maintenance right now-”

“No, no! It’s not about the copies,” Eddie rushed out, before she could finish dialing the phone. She blinked at him, placing the phone back down with a click. “Yeah, no, the copies were great! I just need to ask you a couple questions.”

“Alright… what can I do for you, Mr. Kaspbrak?” 

“So, if this sounds forward at all or makes you uncomfortable, let me know, I understand.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It took Eddie a few seconds to realize this poor woman, who was half his age, thought he was making passes. The thought almost made him laugh, in a twisted way. “Oh, god, no, that sounded terrible, I’m so sorry!” He ended up laughing anyway. 

She smiled nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Just the same she looked relieved. “Start over?” 

“Yes, thank you.” Eddie cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. “Ms. Smithfield?” 

“Yes, Mr. Kaspbrak?” 

He smiled. “Let’s say I’ve got a date. Let’s say my date, he-esh-” He coughed. Jesus Christ, Kaspbrak, pull yourself together. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and pity, like she was trying not to laugh. “My date likes comedy. Do you like comedy?” 

She leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Yes, I do.” His fumbling on pronouns seemed to calm her down enough. 

“Wonderful. So, where do I take her to really show off?” 

She served him a are-we-really-doing-this look, and when he stared back unwaveringly, sighed. “Well, assuming you mean here in the city?” He nodded. “Well, there’s a bunch of places which- and I mean no disrespect- I’m sure you can afford.” Eddie huffed out a laugh and nodded again. 

“Well, the big names usually perform at Radio City or there’s always taking her to a taping of SNL,” She explained, searching his face to see if that was a satisfying answer. He nodded and gestured for her to keep going. “I guess after that you have the popular clubs. Gotham, Comedy Cellar, The Stand, or Carolines. Those are usually the best.”

Eddie fumbled for his phone, frantically trying to type all the names into his phone in a note file titled “GOOD ONES.” Ms. Smithfield laughed, and picked up a deck of post-it notes. She started scribbling names onto it in dainty but legible cursive. “Thank you,” He sighed. 

“Of course! Now, I’ve only been to Radio City once, when I was a little kid and my parents took us to see the Rockettes. I have seen a few shows at the Gotham and only one at Carolines, so I am going off word of mouth here, and places I would want to go.” She peeled off the post it note, passing it to him over the desk. He gratefully took it. 

“Thank you so much, Ms. Smithfield.” Eddie beamed at her, slipping the post it note into his pocket. She nodded at him, grinning. 

“Have a good time, Mr. Kaspbrak!” 

“Thanks!” He turned on his heel, heading to his office, when he heard her pipe in again. 

“Show him a good time, Mr. K.” He froze cold, head swivling left and right for any co-workers milling around or open office doors. Mercifully, he saw no one. Eddie turned to face her, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag. 

“Listen, Ms. Smithfield-” He stopped short when she mimed zipping her mouth shut. 

“Secret’s safe with me,” She whispered. 

“Secretaries shall inherit the earth.” He beamed, nodding once more before going off to his office. 

Once setting his things down and getting comfortable in his chair, he logged in to the company Mac. About a half hour of answering emails and scheduling meetings later, he was able to turn his attention back to his Richie project. He searched the names of the clubs Ms. Smithfield had told him, checking their ratings and reviews to make sure they were the popular clubs. From his desk drawer, he produced a steno pad and scrawled their names and star ratings down. 

Then, he had to go back to doing actual work for another hour or so. Eddie worked through Excel for a while, looking over some data entry for one of his clients. It seemed boring as hell to many, but Eddie lived for stuff like this. He found comfort in being able to run numbers through SPSS and determine the probability that a business would succeed. He could marvel and geek out about statistics for quite a while given a chance. 

Eddie always tended to enjoy working with things he could confidently determine, through some mean or another. Statistics and risk analysis gave him this, but it was also why he enjoyed his other hobbies, like cars. Memorizing facts, makes, models, and solutions to common problems different cars might present scratched the same brain itch that looked for the easily-measurable, once one knows how to do the measuring. 

After sending out an email to another client, he had a minute. Eddie pulled out his phone. He shot Richie a text. “ _Doing some research into this whole comedy business today. I will let you know later what I come up with. Have a nice day._ ” Coming in strong with a strategy became a value to him, and he was applying the same attitude to Richie’s new comedy venture. Predictably, he saw the three dots indicating Richie was texting back almost instantly. 

“ _lmao nerdass.Seriously tho what is there 2 learn?_ ”

“ _You forget that I haven’t been doing this for years._ ” 

“ _Fair point. Ty for taking the initiative then 🍝 bby, it means a lot to me._ ”

“ _Gay. Also, you text like a 12-year-old girl._ ”

“ _U texting a lot of 12 y/o girls, Perv?_ ” 

Eddie sighed, shaking his head. “ _I am going to try to get home after lunch. Have a nice day, honey._ ”

“ _A pet name via text????!!!!!!!!!!? Are you trying 2 get a dick pic or smthn….._ ” 

Eddie wished he could keep up this back and forth, but it would only encourage Richie. And he had other work to do today, not to mention his extra little recon mission. For another three hours, Eddie turned his attention back to his computer. 

***

After a couple dry phone calls, a flurry of emails, and some data analysis later, Eddie was free to go to lunch. One of his coworkers knocked on his door just as he was stretching has back after standing up. “It’s open!” He said, grabbing his bag and coat, switching off his computer in the process. He wasn’t certain he would get out early, but he had high hopes. Bro-ing it out with his co-workers and acting vulnerable with them might earn the brownie points to beg off of work and he could spend the rest of the afternoon with Richie. 

His co-worker pushed the door open. “Oh, do you have plans?” He said, noticing Eddie picking up his stuff. 

“Oh, no, Dave. Just getting ready for lunch!”

“That’s great, did you want to come join me and the guys? We’re going to the bar and grill down the block. New place, you heard of it?” 

Eddie shook his head. 

“Great, so you’re coming.” Good ol’ Dave, of course it wasn’t a question. If Eddie didn’t have his reasons not to, he would bristle at the decision being made for him. But today, he just followed Dave out. He maintained idle small talk with the other people who worked on his floor as they walked down the road to the restaurant. 

How’re you? How’s the kids? How’s your wife? Yes, Myra and I are divorced. 

That kind of thing. 

***

Half way through lunch, Eddie decided to start in on the questions he wanted to ask. Not one to demand attention, he started by talking to the one person who he knew would tell everyone else to shut up for him. “Hey, Roger, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you see, I’ve got a date-”

“Guys! Shut up!” There we go. “Kaspbrak says he’s gettin’ back out there.” 

Eddie pretended to be embarrassed, fidgeting with a napkin. “Well, it’s just _one_ date,” He lied effortlessly. 

“What’s her name?” Another co-worker, Jeff, asked. 

Fuck. “Uh…Rrrr, uh,” Eddie’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “Rachel?”

“Are you pulling so hard you can’t remember the current one’s name?” One of the men joked, in poor taste. Eddie tried not to feel dirty about buying into it for the sake of getting the information he wanted. 

“No, it’s Rachel. A real knockout, mile long legs, pretty, uh, hair.” He offered them what little details he could scrounge up on the spot. 

“Ah, a departure from Myra indeed!” Roger said, elbowing him. 

Eddie could feel a headache coming on at this rate. “Well, Rachel likes comedy. I wanna take her somewhere special, somewhere to really make an impression. I don’t want to just buy our way in somewhere big, I want to take her some hole in the wall that she’s never heard of, really, y’know, knock her socks off.” 

“Hear that? Kaspbrak is a romantic!” 

“You could say that,” Eddie said sheepishly. Under the table he ran his foot up and down his ankle, thinking back to Richie reminding him to wear his braces. “The point is, do any of you guys know somewhere like that.” 

There was a moment where everyone started to talk at the same time before it became clear they needed to take turns. Leave it to a group of rich middle-aged old men to think they know everything about comedy. Jeff spoke first, “I usually just watch SNL, man.” 

“Looking for something a little more special than that, but thanks.” 

Everyone took turns suggesting places, most of which Eddie was certain he never heard of before, a couple of which he had gathered from Ms. Smithfield were actually very popular places. He struggled to commit all the names to memory before excusing himself to type them into his phone. “Thank you guys so much, I hope Rachel enjoys one of these joints,” Eddie said, and it sounded surprisingly earnest. 

He let conversations lapse for a while, only kind of listening to everyone else before decadent to begin act two of his little show. He began rubbing his temple, wincing like he was getting a headache. One of his higher ups noticed. “Something wrong?” He asked. 

Eddie smiled in what he hoped was a feeble manner. “I’m just having the worst headache right now.”

“Is it related to your, uh.” His boss gestured loosely to Eddie’s whole body, referring to his vaguely described over the phone injuries. His employers knew whatever it was involved in a very real and long hospital stay, but they were on a need to know basis for what had actually happened. 

“No- well, I mean, I don’t think so.” Eddie left it at that, staring at his boss. His boss stared back, and for a moment they played a game of chicken. Eventually, his boss sighed and leaned back. 

“Early weekend for you, then. I want the write ups for the Jacobson firm on my desk Monday.” 

Eddie tried not to smile and nodded instead, taking out his wallet. He passed his boss some cash, more than his order was worth- a bit of scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Eddie pretended to look like he was in pain, standing up and picking up his coat and bag. He glanced at his watch and once again had to try not to smile. This couldn’t be going better. 

“Aw, you’re leaving?” One of the people at the table complained. Eddie mumbled out a sorry and took off out of the restaurant. He pulled his coat on while he walked back down the sidewalk. As he walked back to the parking garage, he shot Richie a text. 

“ _Success! I will be home within the hour. Be ready, remember we’re going shopping._ ” Usually, Richie took forever to get out of the house when he was going to be worrying about being seen. He could never seem to settle on a sure enough disguise. Either he leaned into it too hard or his idea of a disguise was just dressing in flat colors. Eddie figured a 30 minute head start would be enough. 

***

On his way up to the apartment, Eddie stopped to ask the doorman and the elevator operator the same question he’d been asking everyone all day, scribbling the answers he got into his steno pad. When he pushed in to the front door, he called out, “Lucy, I’m home!”

“In here, Ricky?” Richie called back in a shocked, questioning tone before laughing. Eddie must be in a good mood. Richie hopped across the foot of their bed, fully in what was going to qualify as his disguise tonight. 

Eddie walked in through the door, flipping to the first page of his notes. “So, Richie, I’ve got some info about local clubs-” He glanced up and stopped in his tracks, choking out a laugh. “What the fuck are you dressed as?” 

“What? What’s wrong with it?” Richie bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He was wearing a stupid tee shirt, track pants, mismatched socks which he tucked the bottom of his pants into, and birkenstocks. 

“What the hell do you mean, what’s wrong with it? Are those marijuana leaves on your left sock?” 

Richie scoffed, nodding. 

“Marijuana leaves? What are you, seven?” 

“Don’t talk to me about maturity right now, your other sock says ‘suck my dick’ on it!” 

“And?”

“And?!” Eddie shook his head. “You’re a piece of work. Anyway.” He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed next to Richie. He hated going on the bed when he hadn’t gotten the chance to shower, but he was able to put it out of his mind for the time being. 

“Are those work notes?” Richie shifted his position to look over Eddie’s shoulder. “Carolines, The Stand- Eddie, are these comedy clubs?” 

“Duh, they are. Anyway, keep up. So, I went around today sorting out what the top clubs are in the city, as you can see on this page, right?”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“Shut up. But on this page,” Eddie noisily flipped the page. “This is a list of the clubs that are supposed to be this garbage city’s best kept secrets.” 

Richie raised his eyebrows. “Uh-huh.” 

Eddie flipped the page again. “And _these_ are the actual best kept secrets. The other ones I looked into and I was able to find information easily on Google or, like, trip advisor or something. These ones, the closest I could find were recommendations on Reddit or weird threads about the city.” He glanced at Richie who was looking at the notebook with a weird look on his face. 

“So, we can determine from this what the odds of turn out would be, the chances people will show up expecting to see someone like you- let alone you- how much room there is inside for people to get in, should the word get out, right?” Richie nodded slowly, biting his lip. “So, I narrowed it down to two places. First, there’s The Flask, in Chelsea.” 

“Sounds like a hat on a hat, especially considering the set I’m packing,” Richie said, smiling crookedly up at Eddie. 

“I thought you might say that, but our second best option here is not that much better. There’s this little place in Greenwich that’s the only other good fit, I’m afraid. Not much better, but it’s small and dirty from what I can tell, but that could be good for us, right?” He looked down at Richie, who smiled at him with watery eyes. “What?” 

“Just, you.” Richie said, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes quickly to try to hide how much he had actually teared up. “You and your lists. Saying it could be good for us.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie said, smiling back. He placed the notebook on the bed next to him and put a hand on Richie’s arm. “I just think what you’re doing is really… brave. And I want to help make it so you have the least amount of things to worry about as possible so whether or not things go well, you have fun. Though, I can’t really see them going south. You’re you. And you’re dumb as a box of rocks but you’re pretty fucking incredible.” 

Richie said nothing, opting instead to lunge forward and hug Eddie tightly. Of course, Eddie squeezed him back tightly, and they hung like that together for a moment, before Richie pulled back, wiping his eyes one more time before standing up abruptly. “Alright, before you make me cry for the hundredth fucking time this week, let’s go out, huh? Are you wearing that?” 

“Don’t tell me you’re about to lecture me on fashion, Rich. This is Armani, dipshit-”

“No, you look great. You look hot as fuck all dolled up in your wallstreet man clothes,” Richie said, pulling lightly on Eddie’s tie when he stood up. “But, as you affectionately put it- like a virgin I might add- I am wearing a sock with marijuana leaves on it. Now, I know you like to play sugar daddy sometimes, but I don’t want to look like a cheap sugar baby, and I don’t feel like changing.”

“So?” Eddie blished flushed faintly when Richie pulled on his tie. 

Richie flipped Eddie’s tie back up in his face. “Dress down, Spaghetti Head.” Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. Give me five minutes.” 

“I can’t watch?” 

“What am I, an easy sugar daddy? No. Go wait by the door,” Eddie said, mostly joking. 

“Oh, I love it when you boss me around, daddy,” Richie teased, turning on his heel and bounding out to the living room before Eddie could sputter out a reply and tell him to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall I am so sorry, I promise in the next chapter they actually go shopping. I’m already working on it. Remember, I write quicker when I get feedback but don’t break my heart! 
> 
> As usual, thank you to the lovely Ross for lending me ur eyes, especially by stopping ur date and making poor Liam wait to read this one lmao. Guys, give her a pity follow for knowing me on her [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/con.voluted/)! 
> 
> I’m under the same username on [tumblr](https://gazeboarcade.tumblr.com). Well, that’s all I got for you guys for now. 
> 
> Tune in for two idiots fumbling around some stores in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! <3


	4. peroxide and duane reade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally go shopping! Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: for brief mentions of drug use and abuse.

Eventually, Eddie dressed down to simple sweats, sneakers, and a long sleeved tee shirt. Richie looked just a bit like a douchebag on the way out, doning a baseball cap and shades. Eddie told him not to pop the collar on his jacket, it made him look like he was pulling some pink panther shit. Eddie himself considered his disguise complete with a beanie and jacket. 

His face wasn’t the famous one after all, though he supposes he should start imagining what it was like to have a mug strangers on the street recognized. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. The two men took the elevator downstairs. Eddie snorted at Richie’s socks again. “You ever actually smoke?” 

“Uh, yeah? Do you know who you’re talking to?” 

“Right, stupid question. Show biz, right?” 

Richie chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart, I smoked my first joint with Bev back in freshman year, behind the bleachers.” 

“Again, I should’ve known better. You two were trouble makers from the start.” 

“Oh, Jesus, don’t call us trouble makers. You sound even more like an old man than when you called them marijuana leaves.” Richie watched the elevator operator try to stifle a smirk. Part of the reason their apartment was so expensive was that they were also paying for privacy, meaning this poor bastard had to run an elevator multiple times a day for a middle-aged famous comedian and his bitchy little live-in. “It’s okay, you can laugh, he actually called them that.” The elevator operator didn’t turn to look at them, but huffed out a small laugh. 

“Would you shut up, asshole? I can’t believe you’re dragging me like this!”

“Believe it, Eddie Spaghetti. You ever smoke? Little goodie two-shoes like yourself?” 

“A couple times, in college actually,” Eddie said. 

“Oh, shut up. No way,” Richie laughed

“Yes way! Why is that so funny?” Eddie slapped Richie on the arm and the elevator doors slid open. The operator held the door. 

“Thank you,” Richie and Eddie awkwardly jinxed. 

“Of course, Mr. Tozier, Mr. Kaspbrak,” He said, a stifled smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

Richie turned his attention back to Eddie while they walked out the front door. “Why only a couple times? Your delicate little lungs can’t take the smoke.”

Eddie shoved Richie jokingly. “No, stupid. It strung me out too much.” 

“You probably had the wrong-”

“-Strain. Yeah, I know a thing or two, don’t look too shocked,” Eddie cut him off. “No, I was strung out either way. Also, smoking kills, in case you haven’t heard.” 

“Hmm,” Richie hummed. “Yeah, I think I have heard that somewhere before. But it’s fun.” He grinned at Eddie. 

“Stop, thinking about you smoking so much makes me worried,” Eddie said, tugging on Richie’s sleeve before sidestepping a bit. 

He knew they tended to gravitate closer and closer as they walked, and in case there was some sharp eyed person with a camera nearby, he didn’t want to run the risk of being spotted walking with his hip joined to Richie’s. He wouldn’t mind it too much in theory, but Richie had a plan he didn’t want to mess up. 

“I mean, the smoke is the least of the concerns of shit that’s gone through my body.” It was so like Richie to just drop details like this that Eddie found both absurd and extremely worrisome in the same voice he may order a coffee with. 

“Like what?” Eddie asked, doing his best not to sound as shocked as he was. Richie must’ve caught his drift anyway because he frowned. Stupid, he should’ve known better than to assume a joke like that would fly by Eddie. 

“Uh, well. Most of it, at some point or another.” Richie coughed awkwardly. “Except quaaludes or acid, I don’t like seeing shit and I don’t think anyone does quaaludes anymore.” 

Eddie blinked at him, eyes wide and very concerned. He wasn’t smiling. “Richie…”

“Listen, it’s not that big of a deal, I’m not like- It’s not a problem _now_ or anything,” He said quickly. 

“I know,” Eddie said quietly. “Was it all for partying?”

“Um.” For a second, Richie thought about lying, but he knew it wouldn’t work out. “A lot of the time, yeah. But not, um. Always.” 

Eddie sighed, and Richie hated himself for making him look so sad. Eddie stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, leaning on the wall outside of a coffee shop. “Leave it to you to tell me something so fucking deep while we’re walking to a drug store.” Richie stood in front of him, back to the people passing by. 

Richie rested his hand on the back of his neck, itching it and glancing to the side. “Listen, uh, none of it is really that big of a deal anymore. I got handles on everything hard pretty quick, and recreational is recreational for a reason, right?” 

Eddie crossed his arms and fixed Richie with a look that clearly said he wasn’t weaseling his way out of this. 

“Alright, ah…” Richie swallowed. “Listen, I know it’s not the best thing in the world to hear. I’m sorry for being so casual about it. But as you know, I- we are both doing better now. For a while there, I was pretty turned around and yeah, it was dark sometimes. But hey,” Richie sighed, grabbing Eddie’s hand for a moment. “I’ve got stuff to live for now. I’m in a good place.” 

“I’m stuff?” Eddie asked, with a smile. 

“You’re stuff.” Richie squeezed his hand before letting go. 

Eddie leaned closer to whisper, “I wish I could kiss you right now. Thank you for telling me about this. I’m here for you no matter what, you know?” 

Richie glanced left and right before rocking forward, grabbing the collar of Eddie’s jacket and pressing a kiss to the top of his head quickly before backing up and walking again, like nothing happened. It was clumsy and obvious, but it left Eddie breathless for a moment. He blinked quickly before skip stepping a couple strides to catch up with Richie. 

“Idiot. It’s a wonder we haven’t already been caught,” Eddie grumbled once he was in an ear shot. 

“Don’t pretend for a second that you don’t think it’s kinda hot.” 

“What?” Eddie asked. He wondered when Richie would ever stop surprising him. 

Richie laughed. “You know, sneaking around like teenagers.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Again: you’re an idiot.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”

***

About three blocks of walking later, they made it to a Duane Reade. “So, feel like telling me why we’re at a drug store?” Richie asked. 

“We’re going to fix your 3-in-1 problem,” Eddie said, shivering when the warm air of the store hit him. He always got cold so easy. Richie felt a pang in his chest and a wordless need to hold Eddie until he wasn’t shivering anymore. Fuck, he really was in love. 

“Is that really such a big deal?”

“Yeah, it’s like-” Eddie lowered his voice. “A straight person stereotype, using 3-in-1.” Richie wheezed out a laugh. 

“So scandalized for someone who just worked out he was gay,” Richie mumbled. 

“Shut up, R-” He caught himself on Richie’s name. “Really. Shut up.” Eddie said, trying to sound mean but he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Whatever you say, beauty queen.” Riche bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s, before something on the shelf caught his eye. “Oooh.” He picked up a box of some playing cards, holding them up for Eddie to see. “These are sick.” 

Eddie blinked patiently. Richie was hopeless in stores like this. There were way too many small things that pulled his attention a thousand different ways at once. He bounced off the walls for entire shopping trips, but Eddie didn’t mind. “You don’t even play cards.” 

“Fair, but I could!”

“Will you?” Eddie folded his arms over his chest. “If you really want them, I’ll buy them for you.” 

“Nah,” Richie said, tossing them back on the shelf and walking about four steps before something else caught his eyes. Eddie trailed behind, listening to Richie crack jokes along the lines of _who would even need this?_ or _oh, Eds, look._ He could handle this for a while, he thought. But he was already starting to feel a dull, persistent ache that would start to feel a lot like fire in his ankles. So, reluctantly, he steered his distracted boyfriend to the soap aisle. 

“Holy shit! How am I supposed to pick from all of these?” Richie’s eyes darted up and down the aisle. 

“I’ll help. What smell do you like?” 

Richie cracked a grin. 

“So help me god, if you say me, I’m going to snatch that hat off your head and tell everyone that the Trashmouth himself is in here.”

“Alright, alright!” Richie held up two hands in a mock surrender. “Jeez, didn’t realize romance was dead.” Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his hip to the side. Fuck, it was cute. “Okay, uh...I like clean smells. And uh… apples?” 

“Okay, let’s see what we can do for that…” Eddie walked down the aisle a bit, looking for a shampoo/conditioner combo that was good for Richie’s hair texture. “Green apple,” He said, holding up two bottles for Richie to see. 

“That was quick.” 

“Yeah, it’s surprisingly easy to take care of yourself when you know how,” Eddie teased, passing one of the bottles to Richie. “Smell it, see if it’s good.” He knew this was a big step for Richie, even though it seems small and insignificant. This was one of the many steps in the right direction. Somehow, in the last 27 years, he had gotten to a point where he was doing the bare minimum to take care of himself in a lot of areas, and this was one of them. 

Richie popped the lid open. “I feel like I’m doing something illegal,” He said, gently sniffing it. His eyebrows shot up. “Wow, alright, that smells really good.” 

“Better than Old Spice 3-in-1?”

“Yes, better than that, asshole.” Richie looked a bit concerned. Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

“Are you sure it’s not too- Um.” Richie gestured vaguely. Eddie tilted his head. “Fruity smelling?” He chuckled, fidgeting with the lid.

“First off, don’t get all internalized homophobic about soap on me, please. I can’t bear that.” Eddie said it in a teasing tone, but reached out and brushed his fingers on Richie’s hand. “Second of all, the smell should linger a bit, but certainly not strong enough that it’ll like… waft off you or anything. Especially since you also wear cologne and deodorant. It’ll smell good while you use it, and then a bit less intense for like the first ten or so hours after.” 

Richie nodded. “Okay, that’s fine. What about body wash?”

“Yes, body wash. Hold this, please?” Eddie passed the other bottle to Richie, who took it. “Let’s find something, uh, clean smelling that’ll make your skin soft in the same go.”

“Almost like… a 2-in-1?”

“Jesus christ. I guess? Want to stop and get a Home Depot membership on the way home?” Eddie bent over, looking at the bottom shelf. 

“There’s no Home Depot on the way home. Is that another straight person joke?” 

Eddie nodded. 

“I should’ve known.” Richie shamelessly checked Eddie out while he searched the shelf. He looked precious, looking through the soap bottles while chewing on his lip. So focused on making sure Richie got a nice soap, it made his heart flutter. Not to mention the position Eddie was in… Perk of sunglasses inside: no one can see where you’re looking. 

All too soon, Eddie stood up again, holding up a bottle labled ocean mist. He passed it to Richie. “What is this, salt water scented?” He shifted the conditioner bottle under his arm to pop open the lid and carefully smell it. “Oh, not at all. That’s nice, Eds.” 

“Are you happy with it?” 

Richie nodded. 

“Good. Do you need anything else while we’re here? I need a couple things.” Eddie started off toward the first aid aisle. He picked up a new bottle of peroxide and alcohol. 

“Planning on getting cut or something?” Richie raised an eyebrow. 

“No, I need to replace ours,” Eddie explained. 

“There’s no way we ran out.”

“Yeah, no shit. They go bad, genius,” Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes and walking toward the cooler area. He passed the peroxide to Richie.

“Always lookin’ out for us.” 

Eddie asked, “Want ice cream? For tonight?” 

“You treat me so well, best sugar daddy in the world,” Richie teased, grinning stupidly at Eddie. “Please. You pick the flavor this time.” Eddie settled on classic vanilla bean, his long standing favorite. Nothing unpredictable in it, was his reason. 

“We should’ve gotten a basket,” Eddie complained, looking at how far it was back to the front of the store and frowning. He could go get one, but even shifting his weight was leading to little shooting pains in his knees and ankles.

“Want one? I can go get one,” Richie offered. 

“Would you?” Richie nodded, turning to go. “Thanks, honey,” Eddie said under his breath, leaning on the wall and waiting for Richie to return. When he did, beaming proudly when Eddie thanked him, Eddie neatly arranged their items in the basket. 

“You don’t need any lotion, right?” He asked. Richie shook his head. 

“I have that big scentless bottle for-” 

“ _Think_ , for a second, before you say something inappropriate in here,” Eddie interrupted. 

“Moisterizing my… elbows,” Richie said, pausing for effect to tease Eddie, who rolled his eyes. Richie turned, heading a couple aisles to the left. Eddie groaned when he realized where Richie was headed. “What?” Richie said over his shoulder, stopping short in front of the condoms. 

“You’re a child.”

Richie put a hand over his heard. “Is sexual hygene childish to you, Eduardo? I’m shocked and appalled.” Eddie glared at him. “Seriously, I just need to stock up,” He said quickly, dropping a box into the basket, along with a small bottle he grabbed and tossed in before Eddie could get a good look at it. Richie looked at Eddie, taking in his blushing cheeks and scowl. 

“What? You never know when your boyfriend may decide to quit his job and stay at home every day for you to-” Eddie reached up, clamping a hand over Richie’s mouth. 

“Would you shut up? You pervert.” He frowned, but struggled to maintain his pout when Richie laughed behind his hand, gently pulling it off. “You better not have grabbed Magnums-” 

“If they’re too small, they break, Eds,” Richie said innocently, with the same tone you may use to tell someone the sky is blue. 

“Will you shut the hell up?” Eddie hissed. Richie muffled a laugh behind his hand. “Now, if you’re quite done being a pervert in the middle of the Duane Reade, can we go ring up?” 

Richie nodded, biting his lip mischeviously. Eddie squinted at him, but turned to lead the way to the register, gasping when he felt Richie walk up behind him, slapping his ass lightly, more a tap than anything. “ _Richard. _” He swatted at Richie’s hand, who was currently bent over laughing as quietly as he could. Suddenly, Eddie was very grateful for the tall shelves on either side of the aisle. Blushing crimson, he walked up to the cash register, Richie in tow.__

__

__While the clerk rang up their stuff, Eddie watched Richie from the corner of his eye. Richie was looking at the little shelf of fancy chap sticks. “Want one?” Eddie asked. Richie’s eyes darted over to him, seemingly surprised to have been caught looking._ _

__

__“Here, this one is my favorite,” Eddie said, grabbing a tube of the coconut pear flavor and adding it to the basket. Richie smiled. Portable Eddie kisses, he thought. It was goofy, but he loved the thought of it._ _

__

__Eddie paid for everything, and they walked out of the store. “Thanks, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie said in a sing-song voice. “Best sugar daddy ever!” Eddie laughed, passing Richie one of the bags to hold._ _

__

__“Of course. Anything for you, dipshit.” Eddie looked back down the road, frowning. It seemed so far, with his pain flaring up like this. He started off down the sidewalk before Richie grabbed his wrist. When he looked back, Richie was already flagging down a cab. “No, Richie, it’s fine, we can walk-”_ _

__

__Richie opened the door to the cab, stepping back for Eddie to climb in. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Climb in.”_ _

__

__“It’s just a couple blocks,” Eddie grumbled, climbing in reluctantly._ _

__

__“Save it,” Richie said, sliding in next to Eddie._ _

__

__He gave their address to the driver and they placed their bags on the seat between them. Eddie looked out the window, feeling a touch embarrassed and guilty. He didn’t even get too far into that spiral, before Richie was grabbing at his hand, knotting their fingers together behind the bags, out of view of the driver. Eddie looked at him, and for a moment, he thought his heart might pop with how much he loved this loser._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I write quicker when I get feedback but don’t break my heart! 
> 
> Thank you to Ross for lending me ur eyes yet again.. follow her on [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/con.voluted/)! 
> 
> I’m under the same username on [tumblr](https://gazeboarcade.tumblr.com). 
> 
> In the next chapter, there will be an appearance or two by some of the other losers... keep your eyes peeled! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! <3


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